


Green Thumb

by perkynurples



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Inability to care for said plants by some, M/M, Plants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perkynurples/pseuds/perkynurples
Summary: Bilbo Baggins is chronically incapable of keeping plants alive, which, considering it's the one thing that reminds him of home in this new city, is a bit unfortunate. Luckily for him, quaint little flower shops still exist, and so does his passion for facing obstacles head on - even when the obstacle in question is the fact that he only possesses the entirety of four windowsills to try and start his new garden on, a fact thatsome peoplefind endlessly hilarious.





	Green Thumb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinisterfeline](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sinisterfeline).



His very first plant dies roughly two weeks after moving in, a small hibiscus that he bought back in that little shop on Bagshot Row to bring with him and remind him of home, and Bilbo tries not to see it as a sign. He probably could have placed it better, in a spot with more sunlight, and he  _ certainly _ hasn’t had the time to water it properly... Yes. That’s it. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary about it.

A couple of days later, he happens by a nice shrub of mint in the local supermarket, and thinks, hey, nothing says ‘Healthy New Beginnings’ like some herbs. When that starts yellowing before he can so much as make himself his first proper mint tea, he blames it on an infection it definitely must have caught even before it ended up in that Tesco, and tries not to think of the sprawling branches of peppermint in his mother’s backyard,  _ you’d need a flamethrower to weed these, and some sort of black magic to kill them, I’m telling you. _

But then it happens again with a nice little... thing he can't even name, beautiful little white blooms that survive precisely ten days on his windowsill, and he begins to suspect the curse really did follow him all the way across the country.

“There is no curse, Bilbo.”

Primula sounds like she could use some sleep, and Bilbo can hear the baby making noises in the background, and he feels momentarily guilty. He sighs at the sight of the empty pot close by, having kept it only for its pretty acorn pattern, and resists the urge to flip it off.

“You don't know that. Maybe I'm just toxic in general. Maybe every plant in my general vicinity will start dying soon. Watch out Enfield. Later on, London.”

“Okay, I'll watch for it on the news,” she chuckles, “how are you otherwise, you know, aside from the eldritch plant-killing monster residing inside of you? How's the job?”

“Oh, it's nice, yeah,” Bilbo rests his chin in his hand, slouching on his desk a bit, idly opening up his emails, “about to get my first author, I think. Boss seems to like me, but I'm still not half sure if it's because Gandalf talked me up to her or what.”

“Might be because you have no social life and bring your work home every day?” Primula suggests, and he opens his mouth to defend himself, almost indignant, before he realizes the reality of his situation, yet another evening spent in the company of takeout and one of the numerous drafts assigned to him by the publishing house.

“My social life was thriving until my plant died,” he grumbles “how are you? How's my favorite nephew?”

“Well, I'd let him say hi, but he forms spit bubbles much better than he does words,” Primula declares, “I think I've finally figured out the sleep problem, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, there is none. There will never be sleep again. Might as well forget the meaning of the word.”

“Poor thing,” Bilbo laughs.

“He woke me up  _ nine times  _ last night, Bilbo. Surely that can't be healthy for either of us.”

“Well, I’m staying in a hotel next time I come visit,” Bilbo decides.

“Don't you dare. Oh... okay, yeah, I gotta go, darling. I have a situation here.”

“Oh, sure, yeah, I’ll... I’ll catch you later?” Bilbo stammers. Judging by the sound that is either a cat being skinned, or his baby nephew demanding attention, he won’t be getting any more life advice out of Primula today.

“You will! And hey, try getting something that doesn't die.”

“Excuse me?”

“For your next plant. Something resilient. Like a cactus!”

_ Nothing green can stay,  _ he remembers the ominous voices of his family, be it his mother putting him to sleep as a child, or his grandfather in the backyard - Mom would always burst into laughter before even finishing the sentence, making little Bilbo giggle as well, but his father’s father would always glare at the sea of green that Belladonna grew behind their little house as if to spite it all, and Bilbo was never far from imagining that whatever plant the old man’s gaze landed on, would die within the hour.

Never happened, but hey. Children will believe anything.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Might as well.”

 

The shop, he discovers completely by accident one day, when a malfunctioning train spits him out one stop early, and he has to walk through a part of London he is utterly unfamiliar with.

Frustrated and already running a bit late, he attempts to force his phone to tell him the way, when he sees it on a street corner, a perfect oasis of calm and green, pots and pots of blooming flowers showcased in neat rows outside, and inside, he catches a glimpse of... yes, cacti, seemingly suspended in the air in everything from beautiful glass... what are those called? Terrariums? To what looks like a cup in the shape of a... dragon? Mountain?

Bilbo squints to see better, which also happens to be the moment a passerby elbows him in the side, and the magic dissipates.

He doesn't even manage to catch the flower shop’s name, only that of the street, before the flood of the crowd carries him away, but he makes himself a promise to come back after work.

Which, of course, proves easier said than done, because by the time he's done reading through today’s pile of young adult werewolf novel pitches, the clock is striking six, and when he finally succeeds at navigating the busy streets of the capital to where he is  _ almost  _ certain the shop was, he meets with nothing more than a ‘Closed’ sign.

“Drat,” he sighs, pressing his hand against the glass, trying to peer inside.  _ The Green Thumb,  _ the shop is called, and someone clearly knows what they're doing. It's very... green, yes, incredibly lush and cozy, plants covering every available space including the counter, and, as he glimpsed before, hanging from the ceiling, and... Is that a plant in an old shoe? And what looks like just a ball of moss with a flower growing out of it?

Bilbo sighs heavily, his mother suddenly too strongly on his mind - he can imagine her reaction so clearly, storming inside in utter delight and probably proceeding to correctly name every single plant...

He almost jumps out of his skin when a woman comes into the room inside, from around a corner he hadn’t noticed before, and before he can turn on his heel and run, she notices him, and waves, an apologetic grimace, and Bilbo waves his hand,  _ no no, I know, you're closed,  _ but to his horror, she fishes out her keys and hurries to him.

“Hi there!” she calls, muffled still by the door in between them, and he backs away, “No, no, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt past closing time, I was just passing by...”

“And I only just closed five minutes ago, and you really looked like you wanted to come inside,” she greets him with a grin, “so come.”

“Oh no, I wouldn't want to impose, I can come back tomorrow...”

“There might not be a tomorrow,” she says perfectly seriously, and when he ends up staring at her, his mouth probably forming a perfect ‘o’, she bursts into delighted, and rather pleasant, laughter.

“I'm kidding! But who knows, right? Come on in, please!”

“I'll, uh...” Bilbo stares at her arm outstretched, welcoming him into the shop, “well, if you... insist?”

“Absolutely!” she laughs.

 

And that's how Bilbo ends up in a flower shop after closing time, the place perfectly quiet, bathing in the last remnants of a late spring sunset, the golden glow making it appear like the setting of a fairy tale, or at least really good hipster movie. Some of the authors he's read today should take note, Bilbo thinks absentmindedly.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the woman asks, shuffling through something behind her counter, and Bilbo realizes he's probably taking her time away from her family or at least a dinner, something he could really use himself now, incidentally.

“Oh, um...” he tries to find words that  _ wouldn't _ betray the full extent of his ignorance when it comes to this subject, and it might be his empty stomach speaking, but he eventually opts for the brutal truth. “Something that won't die on me. Seriously, I'm horrible at this. I'm so sorry.”

And she is laughing again, coming from behind the counter to stand by his side, which is a bit awkward because she is  _ at least _ a head and a half taller than him, and quite imposing in her own way, long jet black hair a stunning contrast with her flowing lilac dress, while Bilbo is just... Bilbo.

“I appreciate the honesty, but I wouldn’t worry too much. There's a plant for everyone, Mr...”

“Oh, Baggins. Bilbo Baggins.”

“Pleased to meet you. Dis Durin. Now, something resilient, you say?”

“I'm not sure a tough enough plant even exists,” Bilbo mutters, but she simply leads him to the window, where all the cacti are situated, and bends down to pick up a tiny pot with a spiky succulent-looking plant in it. Yes,  _ succulent-looking,  _ that must be the correct term, Bilbo mentally rolls his eyes at himself.

“This one is called a haworthia,” the woman - Dis, what an unusual name, but probably no stranger or less mocked back in school than Bilbo Baggins come to think of it - explains, “do you have any sun in your apartment? Okay, keep her away from it. Somewhere not too shady, but not in direct sunlight either, that's what she likes. And as for watering, well, if you remember to give her a couple of drops every week, she'll be perfectly happy, believe me.”

“How much is a couple of drops?” Bilbo asks, then, more insistently, “seriously, I am  _ bad  _ at this.”

“Right,” she grins, “come here.”

Back at the counter, she pulls out the most adorable spray bottle Bilbo has ever seen, about the size of her palm.

“Alright. Go for about ten sprays every week, like this,” she demonstrates with a bottle of her own, Bilbo mesmerized with each quiet hiss, “now your work is done for seven days! Neat, huh?”

“Neat,” he nods, somewhat dazed, “uh... what do I owe you?”

“Well, the plant is three quid, but tell you what, I’ll toss in the spray bottle for free if you promise to come back here someday soon and tell me how it’s going. Maybe let me strongarm you into buying more, huh?”

“Oh, so you aren’t one of those shops that only ever appears for one day a year and no one can ever find it again after that?”

Her laughter is quite infectious, Bilbo finds.

“You’ll just have to come back and see,” she suggests.

 

The plant, he sets on the windowsill in his south facing bedroom, safely away from direct sunlight as instructed, and can’t really seem to stop looking at it every other second before going to sleep that night, its tiny spikes casting deceptively long shadows in the faint glow of the lamp on his end table.

“Don’t die on me, yeah?” he instructs it, and his last thought before falling asleep is dedicated to the strange woman in her cozy little corner shop full of life, so perfectly out of place compared to the rest of the bustling city outside - not, come to think of it, at all unlike Bilbo himself.

 

-

 

Now, if he ever expected to make his first habit in a new city out of anything, he certainly never would have guessed this - but it only takes two more visits to The Green Thumb, one for a new plant and one for advice on the first one dwindling, for something to compel him to  _ keep _ coming back. Turns out that Mrs Durin’s shop is only ever peaceful and quiet  _ after _ closing time, as there is a tiny but busy coffee shop connected to it through a narrow corridor Bilbo didn’t notice the first time he was there, but she finds time for him nevertheless, somehow, among selling plant after plant.

The first time he gets the brilliant idea to bring his work there on a slow afternoon, he ends up meeting her sons as well, barely past their teens and in charge of brewing the coffee and entertaining the guests with their constant bickering and joking around, and he only ever realizes just how much time he’s spent there when Dis appears at his table gently reminding him of the fact.

“So you’re a writer, then?”

“Excuse me?”

“That,” Fili, the older of the two brothers, points with his chin to the screen of Bilbo’s laptop, as his hands are currently full with Bilbo’s order, “looks like you’re working on a novel or something.”

“Oh, goodness, no, no,” Bilbo stammers, “my job is... actually to look at other people’s novels, and judge whether or not they are worthy of picking up by the publishing house I work for.”

“Ooh,” Fili’s face lights up, “which one?”

“Uh... Goldenwood Publishing?”

“Holy crap, even I’ve heard of them!” Fili grins, “but doesn’t reading through a dozen bad novels a day make you want to write a really good one yourself?”

At that, Bilbo can only adjust his glasses somewhat nervously, and ponder for a strange moment if he’s really going to reveal his most personal dream to a kid serving him coffee - fortunately, it lasts about three seconds, before Fili declares ‘Well, good luck, anyway!’, and skips off as fast as he came.

Bilbo shamefully waits for him to be preoccupied with another customer before opening up his work again - and if he happens to glance at his own document, aptly titled ‘The Thing’, every now and then among reading about what feels like the hundredth unnecessary love triangle just that week, well then, no one can blame him.

 

After that, a tradition is swiftly born - the coffee is delicious and the seclusion of his favored tiny round table in the very back of the room is perfect for him, and what’s more, his collection of weird little plants grows by the week. Dis does teach him their names, and he tries his best to remember them all, but he spends far more time amazed at his newfound ability to actually keep  _ something  _ alive. The cacti and succulents come in so many shapes and sizes he doesn’t think he will ever get enough of them, and really, there’s no reason to stop. The greener his windowsills and shelves become, the more at ease he feels at his new home, so much so that he gains perhaps a bit more confidence than he should.

“Tomatoes?”

“Tomatoes.”

“That’s very ambitious,” Dis squints at him. “Don’t you only have a tiny balcony?”

“I do, yes, I know, I know,  _ but, _ ” Bilbo leans in over the counter, surprising himself with his own enthusiasm, “I read about these, um... like, tiny ones? That are really resilient, can be grown indoors...?”

“Well, I suppose a shrub of cherry tomatoes could do the trick... Why tomatoes in particular, though? There are a dozen easier plants for you to get started on.”

“No, I... Well,” Bilbo sighs, “they were... they were my mother’s favorite. She used to get prizes for her tomatoes, let me tell you. I just thought... It’s silly. Maybe I’m kidding myself. Hell, I had two cactus casualties just last week. I’m still hopeless.”

“No, no, don’t say that,” she interrupts him firmly, “I told you, that was probably my fault, those guys must have been infected or something... But anyway! What are you doing this weekend?”

“Oh, uh... Nothing much? Well, there’s this office party thing on Friday, but I don’t think that I’ll...”

“Well, Sunday morning I’m driving out to see my brother in Cheshunt. He’s my herb supplier, and a little bit of a genius when it comes to growing vegetables. Seriously, you should see his greenhouses. You  _ will _ see his greenhouses, if you come with me! If anyone can fix you up with tomatoes resilient enough to survive your... conditions-”

“Thanks.”

“-it’s him! I’m serious. You’re gonna love him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to impose...”

“If I recall correctly, you said that the first time you came to my shop, and look where we are now,” she reminds him sternly, but it’s already tinted with the beginnings of a grin, and Bilbo quickly finds he can’t fight one of his own.

“It sounds like fun, actually,” he admits, “god, should I... bring anything?”

“Cash, if you want to buy anything. He will banish you at the sight of a card.”

“Is it just me, or does this sound like we’re about to go make a drug deal on Sunday?”

“Oh, you know what, I think he has a handful of those growing somewhere in the back, as well.”

 

And that's how Bilbo finds himself returning to the countryside after ages spent more or less obviously avoiding it - Dis drives slow and calm, the radio blasting peppy tunes, their windows rolled down as the weather has decided to agree with them today, and it almost seems to Bilbo as if every corner they turn will reveal a painfully familiar sight, green windows and orange bricks, his mother waiting by the garden gate to welcome him back home.

Instead they navigate the narrow and crooked streets of the city until they finally stop before... Well, surely there  _ must be _ a house  _ somewhere _ in all that greenery. Two tall oaks make it more or less impossible to see inside, but as soon as Dis leads him through the intricately decorated metal gate, any and all guesses Bilbo might have ventured up until that point, fall completely short of reality.

The house is absolutely majestic, but also somewhat in disrepair, its faded creamy plaster peeling off under the vines of... well,  _ that _ plant he can't identify, but its swelling purple blooms are prettier than any ivy he's ever seen. And is that a small tree growing out of the roof there in the uppermost corner?

"Used to be much nicer to look at," Dis explains, leading them down a path of large cracked stones further in, "when my parents were alive, anyway. Now my brother is under the impression that he can take care of it all on his own, even though he uses about three rooms altogether."

"I think it's stunning," Bilbo exhales, and she casts him a strange glance, but then shakes her head, smiling.

"If you say so," she shrugs, and proceeds to make Bilbo flinch with calling out loudly: "Thorin! We're here!"

"Goodness," Bilbo clears his throat nervously.

"Doorbell hasn't worked since the previous century," she explains, "and, recluse that he is, he probably prefers it that way. Come on, he's probably in the back. I promise the garden is much neater -  _ that _ , he takes care of, go figure."

Every step he takes, following her deeper into the innards of this strange place, Bilbo feels more and more out of place, like he's intruding - but he also can't quite help but be perfectly amazed at the sheer amount of  _ life _ here. From huge terracotta pots lining the pathway they're on, full of plants he only wishes he could name, all furiously in bloom as if they're competing with one another, to the mass of freely growing shrubs by the side of the house; from the trees, more oaks and a fully grown chestnut with branches so twisted it's like someone painted it that way on purpose, to the way the owner has chosen not to mow the grass and let it roam wildly instead, full of daisies and tall enough to reach their knees in places, it feels like Bilbo has stepped into a whole other world - and that's  _ before _ he really gets to see the garden.

He doesn’t really realize it, much to his later embarrassment, but his eyes well with tears, quite involuntarily - the sight of it simply knocks all air out of his lungs, the lines after lines of green,  _ neater _ indeed, just like Dis mentioned, but still somehow free to grow any which way it pleases. Bright reds of roses and stunning rainbows of tulips, but also the distinct fragrance of...  _ something _ to do with herbs, that much he can recognize, as far as the eye can see, but what matters most to him, what succeeds at making him stop dead in his tracks, is the familiarity of it all. The layout, everything, is completely different, of course, but... his mother would have approved. His mother would have been at home here.

He follows Dis dazedly at best, around that large tree and deeper into the lush green, his fingertips hovering almost reverently over the leaves and blossoms of all the plants they pass.

“...And you’d think he’d let someone help around, but no-o, it takes  _ me _ a hundred years to convince him to  _ allow me _ to come visit, and god forbid I want to make the boys pick up a shovel... Oh, there you are!”

And there he is.

Bilbo doesn’t even notice the hunched figure at first, the man quite literally immersed in... whatever it is that requires one to kneel in the midst of a blooming flowerbed like some shampoo commercial, but then he straightens up, cradling a bouquet of... what? Hortensias? In his arms, and Bilbo thinks,  _ well now. _ Looks like he’s definitely stumbled his way into a commercial, yes.

“Oh, hey,” the man sighs, pushing hair out of his face, “you’re early.”

“Yeah, because you said not to bring lunch, so I did anyway.”

“Awesome. Where are the boys?”

“Busy. I brought someone else to help. This is Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo, my brother Thorin.”

He never really spent a lot of time imagining what Dis’ brother might look like, but it’s so obvious now - he’s perfect. Well. You know. Perfect...ly in synch with that whole  _ tall, strong, somewhat menacing in an exciting way  _ theme they’ve got going on as a family.  _ Ruggedly handsome  _ is probably a descriptor Bilbo is only allowed to use on him and not Dis, but their features really are so alike... alright, maybe stop staring so much now, Bilbo Baggins.

“Pleasure,” Thorin offers, with no particular emotion behind it, shaking Bilbo’s hand somewhat inexpertly while trying to balance an armful of flowers, but powerfully nevertheless. “What did she lure you in with?”

“Excuse... me?” Bilbo inclines his head,  but Dis waves it off.

“Tomatoes, Thorin,” she says sternly, and Bilbo senses there’s something between them that he’s not going to be in on any time soon. “You’re going to sell him tomatoes.”

“Huh,” the gardener comments.

 

As far as Bilbo is concerned, the greenhouses might just be his absolute favorite part of this strange place, if only the air weren’t humid enough to fog up his glasses - he takes them off, and stumbles after Dis and her brother as they lead a lively half discussion, half argument about... fertilizers, he thinks. To him, this place is like a museum - rows after rows of perfect, fragrant herbs and vegetables, her brother’s strength, he remembers Dis mentioning. He sees cucumbers, bell peppers, even what appears to be a baby pumpkin yet to reach its desired size, and he wonders how plausible it is, for him to replace at least some of his feeble store-bought veggies with these. The idea is very tempting.

“Right, so what kind of a garden do you have?”

It takes him awkwardly long to realize the question is aimed at him, Dis looking at him encouragingly, while her brother glares suspiciously, like he just  _ knows. _ Well, he probably does.

“A, uh... Well, three... No, four windowsills.”

“Windowsills.”

“A-and a very tiny balcony!” Bilbo hurries to add, “but it faces south, so no sunlight, and the lady one floor below me smokes like a chimney, so I’m not so sure anything would survive there. Haven’t tried yet, anyway...”

“Is this a joke?” Thorin turns to his sister, who rolls her eyes.

“Now, don’t be rude. Just weeks ago, you were  _ raving _ about that new cultivar of Alicante you’d finally managed to find - that’s tomatoes, by the way,” she turns to Bilbo.

“I’m hardly going to give some  _ city guy _ my best tomatoes, Dis.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! You yourself said you wanted to test them in strenuous conditions-”

“And believe me, my apartment is exactly that. I couldn’t even keep your sister’s succulents alive at first-”

“Wow, you are  _ really _ not making a great case for yourself right now,” the gardener guffaws, then turns sternly to his sister, “ _ my _ succulents?”

“The last time you let me sell those was like a decade ago, I think. No, I think Bilbo has quite a lot of Greenleaf’s, in fact.”

Bilbo doesn’t know what  _ that _ means, who this Greenleaf person might be, but it definitely seems to have an effect on Thorin Durin, who puffs up like he’s going to explode, so much so that Bilbo actually considers taking a few steps back, but Dis is actually laughing.

“You’re ridiculous. Come on, sell  _ me _ some seeds, at least. Oh, and a shrub of basil, which I’m definitely  _ not _ giving to Bilbo the second we get out of here, to train him to grow tomatoes.”

The menacing glare of the least typical gardener in the world darts between his sister and the now very intimidated Bilbo, and then the man rolls his eyes, in a perfect likeness of Dis, and sighs heavily.

“Remind me why I even let you in here anymore.”

“Because I bring you sustenance, not to mention the much neglected social contact. Oh, and-” she pats Bilbo on the shoulder, like he himself is a prized tomato she’s presenting, “the occasional paying customer.”

 

About an hour later, Dis’ tiny car is about a good dozen different pots heavier, sitting neatly in the backseat like the politest passengers ever, and Bilbo holds a purchase of his own, each waft of wind through the rolled down windows rejuvenating its fresh fragrance.

“So yeah, that was my brother,” Dis grins.

“Charming.”

“Oh, he’s out of earshot now, you don’t have to be polite.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, he’s a lovely person,” Bilbo sniggers.

“Yeah, he has the lonely recluse mansion to show for it,” Dis cackles, “you held your own surprisingly well.”

“I did, did I?”

“Well, he didn’t try to strangle you, or accuse you of trespassing, or slap you with a lawsuit for looking at him the wrong way, so yeah.”

“I’m sensing all of those things happened at some point?”

“Would you put it past him?”   
“Hmm,” Bilbo notes.

“Exactly,” she shakes her head, “but that’s a story for another day. For now, we’re on a mission.”

“We are?”

“Yeah! To get you those tomatoes, of course!”

Instead of getting glum and wondering when the last time was that he’s laughed this much in one day, Bilbo decides to simply go with it, and enjoy himself - he sends a couple of pictures Prim’s way, and she in turn sends him all the vegetable emoticons available on her phone, and he decides that yes, this might just be an actual  _ fresh _ start. Pun intended, he also decides, inhaling the pleasantly dizzying scent of basil.

 

-

 

And if his first time meeting Dis' brother meant embarrassing himself just the teensiest bit with his  _ four windowsills _ , then the second time they run into each other surpasses that by a landfall.

The idea of  _ vegetables _ , just vegetables in general, remains with him. The first time he puts fresh basil in his quick tomato pasta one evening, he is determined to at least somewhat shed the habit of his takeout dinners, entirely too frequent to be anything but shameful, and get his hands on actual healthy things. Like, twice a week. Perfectly doable. He's always meant to learn to cook ratatouille, anyway.

The Enfield Open Air Market, he's only ever heard about from Dis, but he decides it's a better place to start than his local grocery store, and so the very next Saturday sees him... well, still sleeping in, he's not a maniac and the heat  _ has been _ on the wrong side of unbearable for the past couple of days, but he ends up sipping this or that organic lemonade from the very first stand he passes, feeling like a tourist in his own new place of residence, navigating through the afternoon crowd and searching for the freshest looking vegetable stand.

The place has it all - from tacky pottery to even tackier esoteric paraphernalia, from sausages to cheeses (Bilbo splurges on the latter), from large restaurant-like tents, to tiny wooden stands with old ladies selling the strangest stuff, and he is thoroughly enchanted.

Not to mention he almost swallows his straw when he sees a vaguely familiar figure surrounded by half-empty boxes of vegetables.

Thorin Durin clearly subscribes to the workplace - work clothes philosophy, the flannel and faded jeans almost like a uniform, hair pulled back and hiding underneath, oddly enough, a straw hat. He cuts a nice picture, Bilbo will give him that, stacking boxes after boxes, and he almost considers snapping a stalkery picture of him and sending it to Prim alongside some borderline creepy caption about  _ the quality of local produce _ , but he refrains.

"Hi there!" Bilbo greets him, sidling up to his stand and ogling his... vegetables, and the man has evidently never worked in retail a day of his life, because he takes his sweet time arranging his stack of boxes, before turning to intercept Bilbo with the distinct air of a person for whom paying customers are a bit of a nuisance.

"What can I help you with - oh. It's you."

"So it is," Bilbo smiles.

"Windowsill guy."

"...If you insist."

"How's your basil?"

"Still alive, thank you for asking. Delicious in my pasta sauce, just today."

"Well, good," Thorin nods, and then, before Bilbo can say more, he turns away again, busying himself with some more of his handiwork, leaving Bilbo staring, mouth half agape in the beginnings of more small talk. He chuckles to himself, and takes special care to sip on his emptying drink as loudly as possible, watching for any sign of tension in the man's shoulders - yes, that is a good excuse to stare.

"If you don't mind me asking," he starts broadly, "is this all?"

"Is what all?" More of a grunt than a response, Thorin's back still turned to him.

"The, um... produce? I don't mean to insult your gardening skills, I mean I did see your gardens, and this seems a bit like you're..."

"Sold out," Thorin finally turns to him, and Bilbo hopes very intently that that's just how his resting face is, because it is somewhat intimidating.

"...Oh?"

"It's five in the afternoon," Thorin explains, "I've been here since seven in the morning. Vegetables don't stay fresh all day long in this heat, you know.  _ Most people _ know, anyway."

"I know enough about vegetables, excuse  _ me _ ," Bilbo glares.

"You're excused," the gardener shrugs, and turns away, again.

"I'm - I'm surprised you managed to sell so many, with such a friendly disposition!" Bilbo accuses him, which only grants him a huff of laughter.

"Don't need to be nice to sell salad. Now, you're welcome to choose from what's left, or you can just be on your merry way, that's an option too. Just throwing that out there."

Bilbo puffs up, crumpling his cup and tossing it away in the nearest trash bin with perhaps too much force.

"How a person like Dis can have a person like you for a brother, is a mystery to me."

But Thorin merely laughs at that, much to Bilbo's dismay.

"And you know a lot about the kind of person Dis is?"

It might not even be meant that way, but it strikes a particular nerve - the kind that tries to convince Bilbo that despite his newfound... connections, despite the work friends he laughs with and the woman with the plants who makes him laugh, he remains perfectly alone in this strange new city.

“Well, she certainly didn’t snap at me when I tried to buy something from her,” Bilbo pouts, and the man shrugs,  _ again. _

“She’s better with people, I’ll admit as much. But like I said, there is nothing I  _ can _ sell you right now, except for these sorry leftovers.”

“At a discount?” Bilbo offers hopefully.

“In your dreams.”

"Hmpfh," Bilbo scoffs, "wouldn't be enough, anyway."

"Enough for what?" Thorin maintains his air of elevated ignorance perfectly, and Bilbo himself thinks he's doing a fantastic job of not staring too much, watching him packing up shop, box by box.

"If you must know, there's an old family recipe for ratatouille that I've been meaning to try out. Requires  _ especially good _ vegetables."

"Hmm, true. Fresh ones, definitely. Not the kind you can just grow on your windowsill."

"Oh, enough of that!" Bilbo huffs, and the gardener laughs, with genuine amusement rather than derision, and it's a good thing his back is still turned to Bilbo, thus missing the blush creeping into his cheeks.

"Fine! Fine, I'll find my luck elsewhere," he declares, "and I'll be sure to tell Dis what a hospitable brother she has."

"Oh, believe me, she knows. Here, I'll make you a deal." And Bilbo is taken by surprise as Thorin is suddenly much closer than predicted, and pushes a pot into his arms, almost making him stumble.

"Do you know what this is?" the gardener demands, and Bilbo tries to ignore both the heat in his cheeks, and the feeling of being back in school, forced to answer a stupid and yet suddenly very difficult question in front of the entire class. Instead, he all but buries his nose in the abundance of tiny spiky leaves, and inhales the scent of them, while at the same time attempting not to give any particular meaning to the way Thorin just. Doesn't. Stop. Staring.

"Rosemary, of course," he exhales, and is that him, or was that the flicker of a genuine smile there, for a second?

"Of course," Thorin is back to his stern self before Bilbo can dissect that further, "one of the key ingredients of ratatouille. You manage to make this one survive on your windowsill-"

"Hey!"

"-and you've got yourself a box of my best vegetables for that recipe of yours."

"Ha!" Bilbo huffs, half expecting any sort of but, and only meeting with the faintest ghost of that smile from before - quite suddenly, he feels a bit dizzy. "Why would you - what makes you think it's your... vegetables, that I need?" he counters somewhat dumbly, and the man smirks at him, actually  _ smirks _ , and dear god, when exactly did this good-natured argument turn into... this? Flirting? ...Are they?

"Because they're the best," Thorin states matter-of-factly, and when Bilbo squints at him, he responds with the same.

"Alright!" Bilbo relents at last, swiftly running out of skills to keep the conversation going without making a complete fool out of himself. "How much do I owe you?"

"On the house," Thorin waves his hand dismissively, and then, a perfectly aimed jab: "Who knows how long it will survive, anyway."

"You are a  _ mean _ man."

"And you're a horrible customer."

And both of those insults would hold much more significance if they also weren't fighting their grins while delivering them, but there you have it.

"Oi, Uncle!"

The moment dissipates somewhat as two lanky teenagers barrel past him, and Thorin rolls his eyes, keeping them at arm's length, like overexcited puppies.

"Well, you two took your sweet time!" he accuses them.

"You're not even done here!" Kili accuses him, while Fili adds: "Yeah, there's still customers! Oh, hey Mr Writer!"

"Hello there," Bilbo waves feebly.

"What are you doing here?" Kili demands, and Fili, in perfect 'oh yeah we casually finish each other's sentences' fashion adds: "Yeah, don't you know that the best veggies are at Greenleaf's?"

"Oi!" Thorin goes for a smack across the head, which his nephew avoids without so much as breaking a sweat.

"What's this Greenleaf's I keep hearing about?" Bilbo pipes up, and Kili bursts into laughter at the daggers in his Uncle's glare.

"Just an oh-so-fancy  _ florist _ who wouldn't stoop so low as to sell at a market like this, so you don't have to bother," is the disgruntled answer he receives, and Fili nods sagely, explaining: "While our brave Uncle suffers backbreaking labor day and night to provide us city-dwellers with the genuine thing. Sweat and tears, he's poured into this! Sweat and tears, day and night!"

"Neither of which one especially wants to taste in vegetables, but there you have it - hey, hey!"

Kili expertly evades yet another half-hearted punch headed his way, and Bilbo can't hide his laughter at that point - they're quite the couple of entertainers.

"Alright, that's enough out of you!" Thorin harrumphs, "less talking, more lifting!"

Griping about the unfairness of the world, the two brothers set about tidying up the rest of Thorin's stand, while the gardener turns to Bilbo, looking somewhat flushed, which, if he's being completely honest with himself, endears him to Bilbo all the more.

"Sorry about all that," the gardener sighs, absentmindedly scratching his scruffy cheek, "anyway, uh..."

"I'll try to keep the rosemary alive," Bilbo nods, and then, feeling particularly brave for about the flicker of a moment: "I'll see you around?"

And his nephews might try to inconspicuously eavesdrop from behind him, but Bilbo really only has eyes for Thorin's somewhat uncertain hint of a smile.

"I... guess? Yeah."

"Brilliant," Bilbo beams.

The rosemary, he places on his _ very best _ windowsill, the one in his kitchen that gets the most sunlight, right next to the basil, and only discovers the sticker taped to the back of the pot when he turns it over to fluff it up properly -  tiny, very simple lettering, and the doodle of a sunflower sprouting out of fresh ground, rather adorable in its simplicity, reintroduce him to  _ 'Oak And Shield Manor, vegetable produce, soil, gardening supplies, Thorin Durin, 145 Eastfield Road, Cheshunt' _ . Probably an old family name, why else would anyone name a farm that way, Bilbo decides, and vows to find out more with Dis the next time he sees her - until he notices the phone number circled in hasty and somewhat smudged ballpoint pen blue, and it gives him true pause.

What's this supposed to mean? Does the man do this to all the pots? Probably. Is it a simple nudge for Bilbo to give him a call? Probably not, although...

He's still somewhat giddy from the entirely unexpectedly delightful day he's just had, and so, before his own worrisome nature can convince him otherwise, he whips his phone out and begins typing several times, always deeming his text too stupid to continue it, until he's certain his measly herb garden is judging him.

_ You forgot to include watering instructions on your little business card sticker. -Windowsill guy _

He cringes the second he presses Send, but there's no undoing it now - he can only pace nervously, try to busy himself with preparing dinner, while doing his damnedest to ignore the sudden urge to repeatedly smack his forehead against the nearest wall.

It is when he's dicing an onion that the phone pings with a reply, and in his hurry to read it, he almost drops his knife and severs a digit, but what does that matter.

_ Every day if in sunlight. Don't overwater - put a plate or bowl underneath the pot, fill it once, let it drink. Good luck leveling up your gardening skills. _

And if Bilbo spends a good five minutes grinning like an absolute idiot while cooking, well then that's between him and his herbs.

**Author's Note:**

> OK guys hello! Look at this thing that I wrote! Plants are my passion, you could probably tell from the crazy amount of green talk, so this prompt was an absolute blast! There's a second part coming, and even though a part of me knows this could stand to be developed into a full-fledged series, I think I'll just leave it as it is - a cute thing filled with plant babies. Spoiler alert, Bilbo might be getting his hands on some tomatoes in the next part.
> 
> (PS: Couldn't resist the nudge back to NGCS, cackled my way through writing that, hope you guys caught it :'D more on The Curse (TM) coming up hahaha)


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